


Save Me a Dance

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Exhibitionism, Fancy parties with stinky cheeses, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is made to endure an Orlesian ball hosted by Duke Prosper, when he gets an invitation to attend a private gathering in the Duke's Red Room.</p><p>Shamelessly written for the smut and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Me a Dance

His status as Champion allowed Hawke many freedoms, such as the Templars leaving Anders and Merrill alone, letting Fenris live in Danarius's mansion tax free, and ignoring Isabela's transgressions among the marketplace. However, in exchange for looking the other way during these trying times, Meredith demanded Hawke represent Kirkwall around Thedas for formal affairs and holiday functions. Normally this role would have been fulfilled by the viscount, but seeing as how the city had yet to appoint a new one, Hawke found himself having to fill in. In all, it hadn't been too bad. But now, with the Wintersend celebration fast approaching, he was called to Orlais for a grand ball.

The sparkly, ostentatious invitation had come from Grand Duke Prosper de Montfort himself. He'd made no secrets about wanting to introduce Hawke to 'the finest of Orlesian hospitality,' which no doubt meant parading noble daughters around him, hoping to catch his fancy. His status as Champion had reached the far corners of the Free Marches and his name was known all over Orlais. His reputation was now that of Thedas's most eligible bachelor. It was a rumor that both served some amusement and irritation as he received marriage proposals from people he'd never met. He and Anders came up with colorful ways to decline them, though in the end Hawke merely sent plain, polite replies.

Unfortunately there was no declining this trip. Kirkwall had to be formally represented. So he'd gone to Prosper's mansion, along with a few dozen other Kirkwall nobles and his very own 'plus one'.

"You look utterly ridiculous," Anders commented, coming into the room.

Hawke was batting away the hands of his very enthusiastic valet who was poking at his crotch. "It's fine!" he growled, causing the man to tut.

"I've always found that part of you to be more than fine," Anders smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Go," Hawke instructed the valet.

When the door shut, Hawke turned to the mirror, scowling. Anders came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on Hawke's shoulder. Even the heels on Hawke's boots didn't quite bring him up to Anders' height.

"I think that the bright orange doublet goes well with the fuchsia shirt," he snickered. "At least your breeches match your eyes. Think that was intentional on their part, or was that shade of green a happy accident? Oh look!" he said, leaning forward to pick up a gaudy piece of fabric. "A purple cape with gold thread. How _royalty_. It even has pretty fringe!"

"I feel like a rainbow vomited all over me," Hawke grumbled. He turned to look at Anders and gaped. "Your outfit is fine!"

He was clad in a white shirt, blood red doublet and black pants. His knee-high black boots were laced in red to match his doublet and ribbon that held back his hair.

"I'm not nearly as important as you are," Anders joked. "Higher class nobles such as yourself always get the good outfits while lesser slobs like myself are forced to dress in these dreary rags." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "At least that's what's customary for Orlesian parties."

Hawke frowned. "How do you know so much about Orlesian customs?"

"I read. Hurry or we'll be more than fashionably late. I plan to make the most of this. But you'll save me a dance, won't you?"

"If it were up to me, I would dance with only you all night. If it hadn't been for Meredith, I honestly wouldn’t have bothered with this at all. Montfort only wants me here because he thinks I'm an eligible bachelor. I'd much prefer shouting from the rooftops that I belong to you."

Anders smiled, cupping Hawke's cheek, bringing him close and kissed him soundly. Hawke gripped his hips and pulled them together. He growled in protest when Anders stepped back almost immediately.

"Why did you stop?"

Anders chuckled against his lips. "Mm. Because if I don't stop now, I won't ever stop."

"That's not a bad thing," Hawke argued, moving his hands down to the ties of Anders' pants.

Anders stepped back, gripping his hands. "Not now, love. Tonight. After the dance. I promise."

Hawke muttered under breath, then sighed. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Anders asked, head slightly tilted.

"Having to continue this farce. You don't deserve this."

Anders leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. "I understand. And one day we'll see the mages of the world free and you'll stand by my side and declare it to all of Thedas. No one like you will ever be worried to love someone like me ever again. But tonight," he pressed, "your job is to wear a silly hat with a ridiculous outfit and a sexy mask and dance with a dozen women who can only dream about your hands on their skin. While I," he added with a smirk, "will get to fuck you into the mattress afterward."

Hawke groaned. "Tease."

Anders stepped back again, setting his own mask against his eyes and tying it in place. "I'll look for you. Save me a dance."

Hawke watched him as he left the room, eyes firmly affixed to Anders' backside, watching the way the pants clung to his ass, wanting nothing more than to follow him, shove him against a wall, and fuck him. And he would… but later. With a sigh, he finished lacing his horrible doublet and donned his cape and hat.

"Dashing," he said flatly to his reflection.

Tying his mask, he left for the ballroom.

-

Maker, his feet were killing him. Three hours of dancing and he was ready to be done with anything that remotely had to do with pivoting and dipping. At the very least, he try to reason, his outfit wasn't the most ridiculous. However he did have to continuously duck large feathered hats and absurdly long canes. He was on his fourth glass of wine and only just starting to feel the effects. He was used to sharp Tevinter whites and luscious Antivan reds. Orlais apparently had a special wine – pink in color of all things – and it was much too sweet for his tastes. He'd even have preferred a brown ale from the Hanged Man but it would be scandalous to even ask for such a thing here among all the pomp and pretention.

"Messere Hawke," said an elf, bowing low and offering him a card on a silver platter.

Hawke frowned but took it. Though masked, he supposed he was still recognizable to those who were familiar with him. Before he could ask about the card, the elf left. Hawke turned it over in his fingers.

_Duke Prosper invites you to continue the party with several other esteemed guests in the Red Room. Follow the arrows in the hall. Participation is voluntary, but guests must arrive prior to midnight for the celebration._

Intrigued, Hawke looked up at the large wooden grandfather clock. Quarter to. Tapping the card against the rim of his wine glass, he glanced around the room. Anders had disappeared from his corner near the buffet. Hawke wanted to keep an eye on him, but with how crowded the room was, it proved difficult.

_Participation is voluntary._

Well, he thought, draining the last sips of wine, he could always leave if he didn't like it. He took up another glass on his way out, following the small painted red arrows on the walls and floor. The Montfort mansion could easily have fit three of Hawke's estate inside and that wasn't counting the courtyard and the gardens. He quickly lost his bearings, but before long the arrows ended at the mouth of hallway. At the end, a servant dressed in black finery stood in front of a set of large double doors. Hawke walked down, noting the lack of art on the walls in this particular hallway. It made the blood red paint stand out all the more.

"Messere Hawke," the servant greeted him. "We're expecting you."

"So what is this?" Hawke asked, taking a sip from his glass. He was pleasantly floating now.

"Will you join the Red Room?"

Hawke weighed his options. He could return to the party where he would be paraded around again by yet another mother trying to marry her daughter off, or he could go back to his room (once he found it) and hope that Anders joined him sooner than later, or he could see what was behind door number three. In the end, curiosity won.

"All right."

The servant took his cape and hat from him, and Hawke was pleased to be rid of them. With a bow, he let Hawke inside the room. It was dim, lit only from a few candles. He sank into the plush red carpet and immediately inhaled. Some type of heavy perfume hung in the air. Mixed with the alcohol, it made his head heavy and he felt a little dizzy. There were two couches, upholstered in red and black velvet, upon which five other men sat, also masked. A hand gently took his elbow and Hawke looked. 

"Ah, our last guest," Prosper said. He guided Hawke to sit between two of the gentlemen on the black couch. "Now we can begin."

He turned the lock on the door just as the clock struck midnight. Hawke felt a growing anticipation in his stomach, wondering just what this was about. It certainly wasn't to sit around and drink brandy and talk about the current state of affairs of Thedas. Not that he thought he'd prefer that to whatever was going to happen.

"Six of you chosen at random," said Prosper. "To engage in an evening of decadence. Some of you no doubt have heard of the rumors of my Red Room. Well, they are all true, I assure you. Six of you – eligible, rich, very high in social status. Each likely wishing to have a bit of fun outside of society's pressures and burdens. I will provide it for you. Behind me, a curtain where I will bring out what we have for sale for the evening. Once a bid has been placed, it cannot be redacted, so bid carefully, my friends. Let the night of debauchery begin."

Hawke looked from his couch to the next. He only thought he recognized one of the men, masked though he was. Someone he'd met in Antiva during a trade negotiation. Already he could see the man's trousers straining at the crotch. Perhaps if Hawke had known more about what the Red Room entailed, he would be as excited. Or perhaps not. If he was to bid on something – someone – he certainly wouldn't partake. It might be considered rude, but he wasn't going to forsake his promise to Anders just for a night of 'decadence.' 

He watched as an elven woman was brought from behind the curtain, dressed in only a thong, painted up in traditional vallaslin. All Hawke could think was that Keeper Marethari would be displeased. Merrill might find it amusing, though. The elf went for ten sovereigns and settled on the lap of the man who'd bid. They started to kiss, and Hawke raised an eyebrow. Apparently it was bidding and a show.

Hawke refused to bid. In truth, despite the attractiveness of the elf and the noises coming from the other couch, he was rather bored and found himself wishing that he'd stayed at the party. There was wine and cheese at the party. Until Prosper introduced the next.

"A very rare thing here tonight," he promised. "A mage, blonde, ready and eager to serve."

Hawke sat up a little straighter, jaw dropping as Prosper brought Anders from behind the curtain. His doublet removed, white shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose. Hands tied behind his back, barefoot, and blindfolded. Rage filled him, but it was second only to desire. Hawke had seen Anders tied up and blindfolded before, on his knees in Hawke's bedroom. The anger he felt that someone would treat his lover so harshly coupled with the memory of that night was confusing. And erotic.

"Ten," the Antivan said.

Hawke startled. They needed to bid. "Fifteen," he countered.

"Twenty," this from the fat noble at the end of the other couch. 

The thought of that man's greasy hands all over Anders? No. "Twenty-five."

"Thirty."

The bidding continued, and Hawke wondered how high these nobles would take it. Perhaps none of them had ever been in the company of a mage lover. Maybe they heard the rumors. Or maybe Anders just looked as delicious to them as he did to Hawke.

"Five hundred," Hawke said, jumping from the last mark of two and ten.

"Five," Montfort said, impressed. "Would you gentlemen like to up the ante?"

Hawke glared the other men from beneath his mask. The Antivan looked like he was going to bid again, but stopped. 

"Sold then," Montfort declared. He brought Anders to his feet.

Hawke stood at once, not waiting for Montfort to guide the blindfolded mage to him. Montfort smirked and backed away as Hawke approached Anders, reaching up to touch him on the shoulder. He leaned in to whisper to him.

"All right?"

Anders surprised him, kissing him hard. The wine and the perfume causing his head to swim, Hawke returned it, cock reacting accordingly to the passionate kiss. Anders pressed him back until his calves hit the couch and he fell back with a grunt. But Anders didn't stop. Even with his hands tied behind his back, unable to see, he straddled Hawke and pressed down against him.

"Ngh," Hawke managed. He felt his lover through the layers of fabric, hard and ready for him, and thrust up to meet him.

Anders knocked his chin up with his head, nuzzling against Hawke's beard before kissing it, then up his jaw. He took Hawke's earlobe between his teeth and bit hard, then released it and whispered, "Could've had me for free."

But Hawke couldn't reply. Someone untied Anders' wrists and now his hands were working the ties to Hawke's pants. Vaguely Hawke was aware of people moving around him, getting a better view as they watched Anders reach in past the absurd fabric to free his erection. This was apparently a better show than the elf girl. He looked up; Anders removed his blindfold, amber eyes hot and needy. He watched Anders slink down to the floor, leaning up on his knees.

"Holy Maker," someone whispered from behind him as Anders took him into his mouth.

Hawke groaned, head dropping to the back of the couch. His fingers twisted into Anders' hair as he surrendered to his mouth. Warm and wet, Anders ran his tongue along the underside. Years of learning each other's bodies and Anders knew what he liked. Soft lips kissed the sensitive tip while deft fingers curled around the base, squeezing, stroking. Hawke grunted, pushing him down gently, urging him further. Anders smiled against the tip before sucking softly, then opening his mouth wider to move lower. Hawke gasped and so did someone else. Looking down, he saw Anders peering up at him. Mouth and throat full of cock, that bastard still managed to smirk somehow. Hawke let out a shaky laugh, cutting off as Anders swallowed around him.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," Hawke grunted, nails digging into the velvet couch cushion.

Anders pulled back and a needy whine escaped Hawke's lips. He lifted his hips, Anders dragging down the ridiculous pants to Hawke's thighs before he stood up, stepping back. Hawke immediately missed him, cool air drifting over his cock. But Anders started a slow dance, moving to music only he could hear, fingers playing at the edges of his shirt. Hawke barely heard the sounds of the other men around him, clothing shuffling, soft grunts and sighs. There was only Anders in the dim red light, dancing for him. Slim fingers parted the shirt, revealing more of that flat stomach Hawke loved to kiss, up to his shoulders as the shirt fell down to his elbows. His hips continued to undulate, shadows flickering over his skin. Hawke wrapped a hand around his neglected cock and began to stroke himself, watching as Anders teased.

The shirt dropped to the floor and Anders slowly dragged his palms up and over his chest, stopping to tweak a nipple, swollen lips parting as he sighed in satisfaction. Fingers ran through his hair as he turned, hips swiveling, and his hands slid back down his sides. The fabric of his pants inched lower and Anders slid them down, revealing just the top of his backside.

Hawke growled. "Come here."

He'd meant it as a command, but it came out as a breathy request. Anders turned again toward him, pants hanging precariously off his hips, threatening to slip, as he obeyed. Hawke took him by his waist, an overwhelming neediness overcoming him. He shoved Anders' pants down to his thighs and reached up, holding his cock steady in one hand, licked base to tip. Above him, he heard Anders cry out, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Someone – the Antivan, maybe – laughed. He didn't care. Let them watch, so long as they didn't touch. He reached up with his other hand, fingers brushing over a nipple before they found lips. Anders understood, taking one finger into his mouth, sucking, mirroring Hawke's own movements.

Hawke closed his eyes, the dual sensation of Anders' cock in his mouth and tongue around his fingers bringing him closer to the edge. He didn't touch himself again just yet, wanting to make it last. If Montfort wanted a night of debauchery, he'd give it to him. Satisfied, he brought his hand around to cup Anders' ass, slipping a finger between his cleft, pressing entrance to his hole. Anders stifled another cry and his legs spread wider, trying to open up further for him.

Hawke opened his eyes again, lifting Anders' erection to nuzzle his balls, tongue flicking before he took them gently in his mouth. Anders lifted one foot, freeing himself of his pants and pushed back against Hawke's finger, urging him further . Someone moved behind Anders, watching but not touching. Hawke was aware of the sounds of masturbation, the heady grunts of the other men. He thrust one finger, then another inside his lover. But it wasn't enough.

Prosper offered him an opened pot of some lotion that smelled woodsy like the pine forest that surrounded the mansion. Hawke removed his fingers, causing Anders to stamp down insistently, almost tantrum-like. Hawke pulled away from him, gasping as he dipped his fingers into the pot.

"Turn around," he ordered gruffly.

Anders turned, stepping out of the second pants leg, beautifully naked and on display as he bent over, gripping his ankles. Hawke forgot about the lubricant for a moment, leaning forward and biting him hard on the ass, gripping his thighs to hold him in place.

"Oh fuck!" Anders hissed. "Oh… oh please… Please."

With a wicked grin, Hawke inched forward on the couch, the velvet soft under his balls, he couldn't help but rub himself against it as he buried his tongue into his lover's ass.

"Uhn… yes… yessss… " Anders whimpered, tipping forward, hands now flat on the carpet, knees quivering.

Hawke licked the puckered entrance, thrusting forward again. Anders let out a sob, begging incoherently. Hawke pressed a hand to the small of his back and Anders went willingly to his knees. Hawke pressed one lubed finger inside him, and Anders pushed back against it, whining needily.

"Please, please," he begged.

"Please what?"

"Fuck me! Please fuck me!"

Hawke pushed another finger in, eager and wanting, but daring not to hurt him. He knew the limits of what Anders could take, years of experimenting and bringing him to the edge taught him as much. Thrusting agonizingly slowly, laughing as Anders shoved back, nails digging at the carpet as he tried to get him to move faster.

Hawke dipped into the pot again, applying a good amount to his own erection, stroking slowly. "Mm."

"Please." And this time it was a plaintive cry, a whimper rather than a demand.

Hawke took pity. He shoved his own breeches down to his knees and gripped Anders' hips. Slowly he guided himself in, enveloping himself in his lover, grunting as he felt Anders clench around him. Whether on top or on bottom, sex with Anders always made him feel complete. He sighed, leaning forward, dropping a kiss to a pale shoulder.

"I love you," whispered, too quietly for anyone else to hear. 

They stayed there for a moment, Hawke buried inside him, holding him, gently kissing his shoulders and back. Anders nodded, and Hawke started to thrust. Anders almost immediately dropped his shoulders, giving Hawke a delicious angle as he took him roughly. Nails digging into Anders' thighs, he felt the sweat building under his mask and reached up to rip the ridiculous thing off. Maker be damned, he didn't care who knew who he was. Maybe next time they were invited to one of these ridiculous parties they would realize he belonged to Anders and Anders to him.

"Love you," he said again.

"I love…" Anders tried, "Oh fuck… please… Garrett, Maker… faster…"

Hawke thrust his hips in abandon and they were back in his room at his estate. Anders' face buried in his pillow, bedframe creaking as they fucked frantically. Hawke reached around to stroke him, trying to time his thrusts but moving too fast to keep the rhythm.

"Anders… Anders, baby… please…"

Anders clenched tightly around him.

"Fuck! Fuck the Maker, oh… ngh…" 

He thrust again and came, forgetting everything for a moment, even his name. Anders shivered underneath him, clenching around him still. Hawke was panting, breathing hard, sweating under his doublet. And when he opened his eyes, he realized Anders was still hard, and someone was approaching.

The Antivan.

He was moving in front of Anders, pants undone, cock out and hard. He reached for Anders' hair. 

Hawke growled. "Touch him and I rip it off," he snarled.

Anders looked up lazily to see the Antivan backing away. Hawke sat back on his heels, pulling Anders roughly with him. He wrapped his arms around his lover, stroking him quickly. Anders gasped, scrambling to hold onto something as he thrust wantonly into Hawke's fist. Hawke's strokes were almost vicious, squeezing the tip, milking him. His other hand came around to cup his balls.

"Mine," he declared possessively, though it wasn't to Anders. He was glaring at the Antivan and anyone else who dared get too close.

"Y-yours," Anders stammered. He reached back over his shoulder, gripping Hawke's hair, tilting his head so he could kiss him.

It took only another few strokes and Anders was coming, hips spasming as they dirtied the duke's carpet. Hawke returned the kiss fiercely, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist, holding him up. After a minute, Anders pulled back, breathless. There was silence for a moment, then more rustling of clothing. One by one, the other men started to leave, apparently satisfied with their show. Hawke gently released Anders. Shaking, Anders managed to turn and straddle him again, pressing his face to Hawke's gaudy doublet.

Hawke wrapped his arms around him protectively, both breathing hard, neither saying anything. Prosper handed him Anders' shirt, and Hawke wrapped it around his lover with a thankful nod. Prosper smirked and left. Finally, they were alone.

"I love you," Hawke whispered.

Anders shifted and Hawke leaned up, pulling his pants back up over his hips. A hot bath would be necessary; he was wet, sticky and aching, but it was hardly unwelcome. He helped Anders turn so that he was sitting properly in his lap, and saw the damage the rug did, wincing as he gently touched the burns on Anders' knees.

"Sorry."

"For what?" Anders said, smirking again. A white-blue glow emitted from his palm and he healed the marks quicker than they'd been made.

"Cheeky mage."

"I love you too." Anders looked up at him, cupping his cheek, running a thumb along his lips.

"How did they get you here?" Hawke asked, his earlier anger at someone binding his lover returning full force.

"I volunteered, of course," Anders explained, laughing at the confusion on Hawke's face.

"You… what?" Hawke was dumbstruck.

"Don't worry," Anders assured him. "I knew you would be participating. I just wanted to make sure you had something you really wanted to bid on." He paused, then added, "Really? Five hundred sovereigns."

Hawke winced. It was a sizable chunk of money, but with the stipend from the city, the savings from the expedition, and no doubt the tasks he'd be undertaking once they returned, he would make that money back very quickly. "You were worth it. Every copper and then some. Where did you learn to dance like that?"

Anders smiled. "Karl."

Hawke gathered him close, not sure what to say. The subject of Anders' old lover had come up on occasion, and Hawke found himself torn between jealousy and sadness for what happened. The way Anders described Karl, Hawke thought he might have liked him. He changed topics. "That Antivan tried to touch you."

"And if I'm not mistaken, you threatened to castrate him if he did."

"It wasn't an empty threat," Hawke insisted.

"Of that, my love, I have no doubt."

"Can you walk?"

Anders nodded.

They helped one another to their feet, dressed, and with a bit of guidance from Prosper's servants, managed to find their way back to their room. After a quick wash for both of them, Hawke laid down, head resting on Anders' chest, hand on his stomach. It wasn't so bad after all, he decided. Prosper did throw one hell of a party.


End file.
